


A Summer's Day

by littlemiss_m



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Porn, Blind Ignis, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Noctis Lives, Post-Canon, Sex, a lot of people die!! all the canon ones (minus noctis) plus a major and some minor characters, not a happy fic but maybe a hopeful one, sick prompto, this was meant to be pwp but then i did a thing and now it's all angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: When the Dawn comes, it brings with it a new world of no magic, and Noctis steps off his throne with a spring in his step and a flurry of energy trembling in his bones. Prompto, on the other hand, collapses on the Citadel stairs, all shaking hands and hazy thoughts. Aranea is the same, he learns when they return to Hammerhead, and so is every single branded Niff still remaining. They have survived the Night, and they have survived the Dawn, but some wounds are too deep to heal and there is nothing in the world to cure the gaping holes in bodies tainted by darkness.





	A Summer's Day

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic sitting on my computer for a couple weeks now, I think? I finished it before I started writing Home from Gralea, but there were a couple sentences I wasn't happy with and I couldn't think of a fix till today. So here it is, a tearjerker fresh out of the oven... Please enjoy!

Prompto wakes up warm and content, crowded between two hot bodies and the bone-deep feeling of safety. To his left, Gladio snores softly, the side of his body pressed against Prompto's back; to his right, Ignis slumbers just as deeply, barely twitching when Prompto curls further into his embrace. It's early, if Ignis is still asleep, and Prompto knows without looking that the sky behind the darkened windows is still black as the world's worst nightmare.

It's been a year since the sun rose. People have healed, some more than others.

Still, the bed is warm and Prompto is safe and content, so he pushes all bad thoughts away and simply exists. He stretches his arms above his head and groans when the movement pulls at his muscles _just so_ ; his right knee jerks and bumps against Ignis, who grumbles something. Prompto feels _good_ , energetic in a way that's become increasingly rare as time goes on. The arm around his waist tightens and he turns his head towards Ignis, who kisses his smile into a grin bright as the sun he hasn't seen in months. _Good morning_ , they whisper into each other's mouths and Prompto rolls his body until he can grind against Ignis' hip, a wordless demand that the other knows how to read. They kiss and pet until Ignis finally pulls away, reaches for the bedside table while Prompto crawls towards Gladio, whose amber eyes smile at him. They, too, kiss, though it's brief and far less heated than Ignis' kisses had been. Prompto lays his head on Gladio's shoulder and shudders when a heavy weight settles over his shoulders, pressing him down against sleep-warm skin until he wiggles his arms out of the way and finds that extra inch of breathing room. He's caged, but doesn't mind.

(At first, Gladio hadn't been able to deal with Prompto flinching away from his touch. He'd been hurt, and upset, and then angry when he saw bony shoulders tensing over the slightest of touches, ready to run off to war on Prompto's behalf. But then he'd finally learned that what he saw as signs of previous physical abuse were the sign of the opposite, of neglect and loneliness and a life without touches. For all the hugs and cuddles and snuggles shared between Prompto and Noctis, their hands never strayed far past casual embraces and affectionate pats, and Prompto was left starving. When something worse than isolation and desolation happened, in the cold halls of an Imperial court, well – it didn't really change that much. The damage done isn't enough to disturb his already damaged life any further.)

Now, when Gladio lays a hand against the back of Prompto's neck, he feels the muscles tense and flinch and pull away, but the body itself stays still. He waits and feels the muscles soften as tightness melts away, and soon, Prompto's body unfurls and there's warm skin under Gladio's palm once again. This is trust, not fear, Prompto's mind overcoming bodily instincts, and Gladio takes what he's given.

The bed shifts under Ignis and Prompto raises his butt higher in the air, moving along as long fingers arrange his legs into a better position. He breathes against Gladio's neck as the same fingers breach him, careful and practical, neither teasing nor uncaring. He ignores the words spoken over his head and enjoys the sensations. His dick is slowly rising into hardness between his legs, and Gladio's body twitches in a lazy underneath him, left hand far out of Prompto's line of sight. When Ignis pushes into him, hands on his hips and their legs pressed together, he relaxes against the touch and closes his eyes, focuses on the hot flesh moving in and out of him. No-one's touching him, but that's the way he likes it – there's nothing to distract him from revelling in the sensations, nothing to pull his thoughts elsewhere. He trusts his body to Ignis and Gladio, but he also trusts that his own pleasure will follow.

Ignis' thrusts leave a hot flush all over Prompto's body, beads of sweat rising where he's smothered against Gladio's body. By the time Ignis finishes Prompto is almost, almost ready to come; there's a brief second when he thinks he might finish without a hand on him, but Ignis is good and brilliant and too perfect, and the angle of his thrusts changes just enough to leave Prompto gasping on the edge. When Ignis pulls away from Prompto, the blond strains his body and tries to breathe, blushing when he feels Gladio's chest rumble in laughter. Grinning, he sits up to kiss him, and then trails down a muscled body towards the cock waiting for his mouth. He lets Ignis move his lower body as he wishes, and is soon rewarded with wet lips on his dick and fingers twisting inside of him.

It's a little distracting, and he has to take on a much more active role – though it's not really that he has to, but rather that he wants to. All in all, he likes this part, being curled around Gladio's dick while Ignis draws his own orgasm out of him. He likes how thick and heavy Gladio is, likes that there's never a hand in his hair to hold him down, likes how he can feel Ignis' presence despite the distance between them. The distance is more in Prompto's head than in the bed with them, but that, too, is something they've all learned to deal with.

Gladio comes first, bursting into Prompto's mouth. He drinks every last drop, suckles on skin he knows is fast growing oversensitive, then keens low in his throat when Ignis' fingers press on his prostrate and push him over the edge. He's a lazy, boneless heap when Gladio pulls him away from the treat in his mouth, and Ignis' hands caress his skin until his breathing evens out. He rests against Gladio and doesn't resist when Ignis wipes him clean before heading for the shower.

Sunlight glimmers through the dark film covering the windows of their suite. It's morning, but Prompto closes his eyes and settles back to sleep, sated and exhausted once more. Before sleep claims him, he hears Ignis dress up and leave – there's a kiss on his shoulder, a present that makes him smile against Gladio's skin – and then he's asleep.

(His mind is too hazy to realize that Ignis isn't the only one who has a job to do, and that maybe Gladio should be somewhere else too.)

\- - -

In the darkness of the Night, Prompto sits in the kitchenette of their small apartment and watches Ignis with trepiditation. Gladio has been gone for a few weeks, but he's set to return in another two, and Prompto knows he will and so he doesn't worry, except he does, a little. A lot, really, but everything's worrisome these days, and staying indoors with Ignis when there's so much he could do outside is only a minor thing on the list of issues giving him anxiety.

It's also something Ignis himself has noticed, and a tear-eyed conversation later Prompto packs a bag and walks out to the hunters' HQ in search of Cor, who's already waiting. Together, the two of them look at a map of the world and draw a path no-one else would take, and when they return to Lestallum two months later, it's on Aranea's airship because they have too many potions and medicines to carry between the two of them. That alone is enough to silence any complaints about wasting precious fuel, but when two dozen survivors walk out of the ship and into the light-brimming streets of Lestallum, well – in the distress of a crumbling world, total strangers surviving is enough to bring everyone out to celebrate.

\- - -

About once a week Prompto will go stay with Noctis. It's partly because they're best friends, and partly because he wants to give Ignis and Gladio some time on their own. By the time the Citadel is deemed safe enough to live in, even Prompto has realized that there's probably something wrong with him, but also that his two boyfriends spend too much of their time completely focused on him.

When left alone, Ignis and Gladio have a whole different dynamic. They'd work Prompto into it if he wanted to, but the things they like are things he abhors, and so they don't even try. Instead they have sex the way Prompto likes it, and because he's a stupid little thing worrying over everything, he needs to be reassured that it's okay and that he's still loved. He believes it, at least sometimes, but sometimes he still leaves and drags his feet to wherever Noctis is, so that Ignis and Gladio can do whatever it is they do during these nights.

(Prompto knows what it is, because there are no potions anymore and he's seen the bruises on Gladio. They remind him of other things, of cold snow and colder steel, but he never says anything because he's seen Gladio stretch in front of a full-body mirror, all tender smiles and crinkled eyes while he examines his reflection. Sometimes he wonders if he's on the way, but his trust has only ever been welcomed with love and soul-shattering kindness, so he stays.)

The people who work at the Citadel pay no mind to Prompto while he wanders the halls, always sticking to the inner areas with no windows to the bright outside. He hasn't been of any help since the return of the sun and the crowning of a new King, yet no-one seems to care. People remember him from the Night. They remember the blond man who walked beside Cor the Immortal, his name spoken with just as much reverence as that of his mentor's. They remember how he gave away his rations during the worst times, and how he shared his photographs first with children and then with the masses, all of them desperate for different things. He gave them glimpses of a blue sky and green grassfields, of busy marketplaces and buildings unshattered by daemons. He showed them pictures of Noctis and shared stories of him, reminding people of the King who would one day return to save all.

He did a lot of things during those ten years, but most of all he survived. At some point, he lost the bracelet and let the entire world see his barcode, but already long before that, people made the connection between him and Aranea and the ragtag bunch of Nifflheim misfits she traveled with. They all thrived in the night in a way that no-one else did; they adapted and blossomed when everything else died, they stayed strong even in the face of hunger and disease. Somehow, through it all, Prompto became known as a hero, and that was before he helped Noctis with his quest to bring back the sun.

And so, inside the Citadel, people watch him go with fondness and pity and grief, but no-one stops him.

\- - -

The day the sun rises, they limp their way out of Insomnia and back towards Hammerhead. On the way, they run into a stray coeurl that tries to make a lunge for Prompto. By the time he realizes what's happening, he's on the ground with Noctis on top of him, Ignis kneeling by his side, while Gladio prods at the bloodied to coeurl to make sure it's dead.

His reaction is too late and too slow, but at the time, they all think it's because he's tired and hurting from the battle for mankind's survival.

(They are wrong. When the Dawn comes, it brings with it a new world of no magic, and Noctis steps off his throne with a spring in his step and a flurry of energy trembling in his bones. Prompto, on the other hand, collapses on the Citadel stairs, all shaking hands and hazy thoughts. Aranea is the same, he learns when they return to Hammerhead, and so is every single branded Niff still remaining. They have survived the Night, and they have survived the Dawn, but some wounds are too deep to heal and there is nothing in the world to cure the gaping holes in bodies tainted by darkness.)

\- - -

Sometimes Prompto finds Noctis in his formal office, with guards at the front and Iris hanging out somewhere nearby. There's a chair in the office that's just for him, a fluffy monstrosity covered in blankets and pillows and a perfectly huggable chocobo plushie. The windows are tinted dark and the lights are always bright, but Prompto has no problems falling asleep on the chair, huddled into himself in a soft pile of blankets. Every now and then Noct will whine about wanting to take a nap, too, but he never does; he hasn't napped once since the death of Astral magic. The crystal no longer saps at his life, and he's happy and energetic and gets so much work done it's almost dizzying to watch him.

The tables have turned completely, but they make do.

In the evenings, they retreat to Noctis' personal rooms, the royal suite that had housed his father and grandfather and great-grandfather, and that would one day house his descendants. They sit on the couch and watch movies, or play old games. Sometimes their sides are pressed together in a tight line running from their shoulders to their ankles. Other times they slouch into each other in soft cuddles. Then there are the times when Prompto lays on the couch with his head on Noctis' lap and cries choked sobs, memories of times he hasn't forgotten, or simple bone-weary exhaustion he can't shake.

He's no longer the funny guy, and Noctis never learned how to be the comedic half of their duo, so their friendship has changed. It doesn't matter, because Prompto knows he will always be welcome wherever Noctis goes.

(It just hurts that there's so little he can give back these days. Like Ignis and Gladio, Noctis says his love is enough, but it's hard to believe that when he's always taking, taking, taking.)

\- - -

One evening, Prompto walks into their rooms and finds Gladio lounging on the bed, a book open on his lap and reading glasses perched on his nose. A few hours spent with Cor have left Prompto in a good mood, so when he sees Gladio close the book, he grins and sprints for the bed. He doesn't pounce, because he likes his boyfriend intact and alive, but he still hears Gladio grunt when he accidentally slams a bony elbow into something or another. It's a mess of tangled limbs and fingers crooked against Prompto's sides, but Gladio stops when giggles turn into breathless gasps.

Prompto sits straddled on Gladio's hips and grins. ”What's up, big guy? Miss me yet?”

Gladio's answer is a happy, booming laugh that almost unseats Prompto from his perch, so he grinds his hips down and beams when he feels Gladio begin to harden. ”Oh, I was gonna stay with Noct tonight, if you don't mind?” he says, scowling when Gladio puts hands on his hips and stills his movement. ”Well you're no fun today, dude.”

Gladio rolls his eyes. ”Maybe I got something better planned, babydoll,” he leers, sobering quickly. ”Actually, Iggy and I were planning on something tonight.”

”Something _fun_?” Prompto asks, batting his eyelashes. He knows the answer already, but he also feels really playful and likes how Gladio responds to him.

”Sure thing, babe. Come up here and I'll show you.”

Arousal curls up in Prompto's belly and he complies, shifting forward on his knees while Gladio lowers his upper body on the bed. He has to lean on the wall for support when thick fingers unzip his pants and pull out his cock, but like this, the view is gorgeous. He doesn't last long, and it's a bit confusing – Ignis hasn't even arrived yet! – when Gladio sucks him off with very little teasing and doesn't go for anything further, but then he's scooped up on strong arms and carried into the bathroom. They bathe together in the light of candles and Prompto doesn't even have it in him to miss Ignis when he hears the distant sound of pots being moved around in the kitchen.

The warm water makes him sleepy, but Gladio's hands are magic as they work soap into his skin and hair, calloused fingers brushing past sensitive nipples before straying down, down, giving everything Prompto asks for. By the time they step out of the tub, he's putty, barely able to stand up on his own while Gladio dries his hair and bundles him up in a thick bathrobe. ”I love you,” he murmurs, sneaking a kiss when Gladio is distracted. He smiles when the words are returned to him; in this moment, he believes them.

The kitchen smells of spices and coconut milk, and Prompto is excited to notice they'll be eating his favorite curry. He twirls into Ignis' space to steal a kiss or two while Gladio lights the tall candles on the dining table. ”Sit down, love, I'm almost done here,” Ignis tells him, caressing Prompto's face with a hand that smells faintly of ginger and garlic. The three of them eat slowly, talking about their days, and for some reason Prompto feels so indescribably happy he can only barely hold back the tears. He's not tired, he can think, and he has both Ignis and Gladio with him – he cannot imagine a life better than this.

Still, the bath and the food do their job, and by the time they have finished off their dessert, Prompto's nodding off in his chair. He hears chuckles and huffes indignantly. Two sets of arms help him up and then he's being led off to the bedroom. ”But I wanted to have sex...” he mumbles into his pillow. He feels a kiss, and a second one, and someone pulls his blanket up to his ears. Seconds later, he's asleep.

(Gladio and Ignis return to the kitchen to clean up. Gladio watches Ignis scrape the rest of Prompto's meal into a plastic box, remembers the visible ribs and pants that no longer stay up. Ignis thinks back to the call from Wedge, who called instead of Biggs, who called instead of Aranea, and the mention that they were holding mass funerals now. He doesn't realize he's crying until Gladio wraps around him.)

\- - -

The next morning, Prompto wakes up alone, and it doesn't take him long to remember why. The first foreign dignitaries were arriving to talk about – trade deals, maybe? Something important, something that meant Ignis has to be there whispering into Noctis' ear while Gladio looms behind them. Prompto can't even remember what country their guests were representing, but this is something that hasn't happened once since the fall of Insomnia, and that's a pretty big thing.

He lies on the bed for another moment longer before rolling to the side and crawling out. The others will most likely be busy all day long, and Cor too, so he'll have to find something else to amuse himself with. Getting dressed takes a while because he can't seem to find any of his own clothes, everything too big for him, but eventually he settles for a tanktop and some faded jeans, stealing one of Ignis' belts to hold them up. Breakfast is next, and the sight of last night's curry sitting in the fridge takes care of that, even if there's a lot more of it than he can finish.

Afterwards, he wanders around in the familiar rooms, trying to find something to do when nothing can hold his attention long enough to get settled. He finds a book, puts it down. Opens his phone and a game of King's Knight, closes it when he remembers Noct is having important meetings all day long. Finally a thought strikes him and he grins, digging through closets until he finds what he was looking for: his camera.

It's a battered old thing, covered in scrapes and dust, but it still turns on for him. He sits on the floor of the closet with the camera in his hands and goes through old photographs, starting at the newest, taken at a campfire a year and a half before, and moving backwards in time. His entire life flashes before his eyes, except not really – during the Night, his photos were far and few, but after the Dawn, he hasn't touched his camera at all.

Prompto sits on the floor of the closet and thinks.

It's summer, and the sun is at its highest point, and this should warn him to keep inside but he stands up and walks out of the suite, through winding hallways and countless guards in their black uniforms, and no-one stops him. As he approaches one of the doors leading into the gardens, he receives odd looks from one of the guards, but soon after he realizes it was someone he went to school with, someone who enrolled at the same time he did. They never became friends, but they trained together, and it's been months since they last saw each other. That's why the guy was staring, Prompto decides; because it's been such a long time.

(Across the Citadel, Cor receives a call. ”Argentum is about to go outside,” a hesitant voice says, and Cor feels his throat close up. He takes a breath and answers: ”Argentum has permission to go anywhere in the Citadel, save for the private rooms of the personnel.” ”Understood, sir,” the voice replies, almost breaking. They both know.)

It's summer outside – the second summer since the Dawn, and Prompto is awed by the bright colors all around him. The previous summer, he had listened while Gladio described the gardens to him and Ignis both. He'd talked about long-forgotten flower bulbs blooming where they'd been planted ten years before, of dead trees rising to life and turning green once more. Back then, Prompto had seen a few pictures of the gardens in the newspapers and on the television, but now, as he stands at the door to the great outside – he thinks he's never seen anything like it before.

He lets his feet guide him past a sea of tulips and another of lilies, far too stunned to remember the camera strapped around his neck. The sky is a shade of blue he has never seen before, soft clouds rolling in gentle winds, and the sun is warm on his face, so warm he can almost feel freckles forming on ashen skin. He passes a few guards, both looking alarmed, but the day is far too beautiful for worries so he walks on until he begins to tire. The corner he's found is a new addition to the Citadel gardens and as he walks through the wrought iron gate in the tall hedge, he's greeted by the ocean.

Sylleblossoms, Luna's flowers – but he never got to meet her, never got to say the words he'd so carefully planned while everything was still fine. He's vaguely aware of someone leaving the area when he sits his bum on the edge of green grass and endless blue, but his attention is elsewhere. It's summer, and he wants to nap, so he lies his head down on a bed of sylleblossoms and closes his eyes as the sweet scent of flowers in bloom lulls him to sleep.

\- - -

Cor is standing in the corner of a meeting room when he receives the second call. He can't keep a straight face and both Noctis and Gladio know what has happened as soon as they see him. They fall silent, their breaths stutter, and Ignis knows too.

”I must apologize, but something unexpected has come up,” Cor says, bowing his head in the direction of President Camelia Claustra and her small entourage. ”Your Majesty, please follow me.”

Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio all do as bid and follow Cor out into the hallways and then the gardens. ”He's in the Tenebraean Garden,” he says. In the distance, they see a small crowd of people in black uniforms guarding the section. They step aside for the four men, no-one willing to meet their eyes.

They find Prompto on the edge of a bed of sylleblossoms, and if they didn't know better, they'd think him asleep. He looks happy and peaceful, golden hair and pale skin that shimmers in the bright daylight. Cor stops first, Gladio and Ignis after him. Noctis hears Gladio murmur descriptions of the scene to Ignis and keeps on walking, kneeling on top of blue flowers. He pulls Prompto's head on his lap and doesn't try to hold back the tears spilling down his cheeks.

Gladio is sobbing openly before he even makes it to Prompto's side. He reaches for a thin arm and holds onto it tight even as his own hands shake and tremble. When Ignis joins them, Noctis offers his arm to lead him into a kneel by Prompto's other side, then takes hold of gloved fingers and places them on flesh that will never move again. In that moment, Ignis shatters.

\- - -

They don't remember the camera until the night after the funeral, when they sit in Noctis' suite with expensive drinks in their hands and try to find a way to survive something they had all seen coming. It's Noctis who pulls out the camera and flicks the switch to turn it on, and then he drops it in shock when he sees the latest picture, thinking it a joke but knowing it can only be real.

In the picture, the four of them sit on a sea of trampled sylleblossoms, Prompto on the ground with his eyes closed and the three others crying around him, and it would be a horrible thing to photograph if not for the sense of pure _love_ radiating from it. Cor's feet are just in the frame, black leather and red soles the only part of him caught in the picture. Speechless, Noctis presses a button to find a second picture, and though tears are streaming down his face, he can't hold back his smile; he's looking at a selfie of a grinning Prompto who somehow looks like he's twenty again, healthy and brave in the face of a world threatening to fall apart. If not for Cor, who stands in the same picture behind Prompto, wiping tears from his eyes while the sun casts a halo on his hair, Noctis would think it an old picture.

It's not.

(The two pictures are printed out, and those privy to them soon realize that they can see shadows of others in the background. If you take the first picture and tilt it this way, a bald man will appear behind the crying Shield, one hand pressed against a massive shoulder. Tilt it that way, and a man with silver hair and a heavy black coat will shadow the King seated in his rightful place in the middle of his family. The second picture, when examined, will show two blonde women, or a scowling man with shockingly white hair, or a group of Galahdian warriors – all of them memories, all of them happy.)


End file.
